The “girls” rose obediently with a delightfully innocent and juvenile air, and fortunately for them did not notice the irreverent smile that played on young Lord Fulkeward’s face, which was immediately reflected on the artistically tinted countenance of his mother, at the manner of their dismissal.

“There is surely nothing improper in never having been married,” said Dr. Dean, with a mock serious air.  “Consider, my dear Lady Lyle, is there not something very chaste and beautiful in the aspect of an old maid?”

Lady Lyle looked up sharply.  She had an idea that both she and her daughters were being quizzed, and she had some difficulty to control her rising temper.

“Then do you call the Princess an old maid?” she demanded.

Lady Fulkeward looked amused; her son laughed outright.  But the Doctor’s face was perfectly composed.

“I don’t know what else I can call her,” he said, with a thoughtful air.  “She is no longer in her teens, and she has too much voluptuous charm for an ingenue.  Still, I admit, you would scarcely call her ‘old’ except in the parlance of the modern matrimonial market.  Our present-day roues, you know, prefer their victims young, and I fancy the Princess Ziska would be too old and perhaps too clever for most of them.  Personally speaking, she does not impress me as being of any particular age, but as she is not married, and is, so to speak, a maid fully developed, I am perforce obliged to call her an old maid.”

“She wouldn’t thank you for the compliment,” said Lady Lyle with a spiteful grin.

“I daresay not,” responded the Doctor blandly, “but I imagine she has very little personal vanity.  Her mind is too preoccupied with something more important than the consideration of her own good looks.”

“And what is that?” inquired Lady Fulkeward, with some curiosity.

“Ah! there is the difficulty!  What is it that engrosses our fair friend more than the looking-glass?  I should like to know—­but I cannot find out.  It is an enigma as profound as that of the sphinx.  Good-morning, Monsieur Gervase!”—­and, turning round, he addressed the artist, who just then stepped out on the terrace carrying a paintbox and a large canvas strapped together in portable form.  “Are you going to sketch some picturesque corner of the city?”

“No,” replied Gervase, listlessly raising his white sun-hat to the ladies present with a courteous, yet somewhat indifferent grace.  “I’m going to the Princess Ziska’s.  I shall probably get the whole outline of her features this morning.”

“A full-length portrait?” inquired the Doctor.

“I fancy not.  Not the first attempt, at any rate—­head and shoulders only.”

“Do you know where her house is?” asked Lord Fulkeward.  “If you don’t, I’ll walk with you and show you the way.”

“Thanks—­you are very good.  I shall be obliged to you.”

And raising his hat again he sauntered slowly off, young Fulkeward walking with him and chatting to him with more animation than that exhausted and somewhat vacant-minded aristocrat usually showed to anyone.